


Don't hate the villain, hate the Villanelle

by vorpalsword



Series: Missy & Villanelle [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Eve isn't really in this but I flagged it as Villaneve because Villanelle is Always Yearning, F/F, Flirting, Gen, Hijinks, Humor, Set after Killing Eve S2 finale, Villanelle pov, but not actually that violent, frank discussion of murder, jk now with an epilogue featuring Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vorpalsword/pseuds/vorpalsword
Summary: Missy hires Villanelle to kill the Doctor. Three Doctors, actually.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: Missy & Villanelle [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740472
Comments: 9
Kudos: 63





	1. The Witch's Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> Picks up immediately following the S2 finale of Killing Eve for Villanelle, and sometime during S10 for Missy.

To say it had been a difficult day would be the understatement of the century. In fact, Rome might be ruined for Villanelle now, which is a shame. 

Villanelle has never felt like this before. Like she is buzzing with energy but not the good kind, like there’s a pit in her stomach that keeps getting deeper and only grows more when she thinks about Eve.

But she won’t think about Eve. Not anymore.

So she falls back on her old favorite coping mechanisms: the trusty trio of fashionable clothes, delicious food, and even more delicious women. Dressed in a fabulous brand-new, all-black ensemble and halfway through an extravagant meal in a popular Roman cafe, she has two out of three methods down and is angling for her third when a woman suddenly drops into the seat across from her.

Villanelle examines her over the top of her book, meeting piercing blue eyes as she takes in carefully pursed lips and cheekbones that could cut glass. She’s dressed in some kind of old violet suit - not vintage-old, but historical-old. It’s unusual for sure, but it suits her somehow. And Villanelle respects anyone who commits that hard to an aesthetic.

The woman’s mass of dark hair, meticulously pinned back, only seals the deal further. Villanelle’s fingers already itch to let it down. She really does have a type. 

After a moment of Villanelle staring at her appreciatively, the other woman breaks the silence.

“Bad breakup?” the woman asks in lieu of an introduction, her eyes flickering to the book in Villanelle’s hands.  _ How to Get Over Your Ex _ is emblazoned on the cover.

_ Scottish. Interesting,  _ Villanelle thinks as a slow, confident smile stretches across her face. When she speaks, she uses the same flat American accent she had been practicing so much lately as Billie.

“If I say yes, are you going to help me get over it?” 

“Maybe,” the woman hums.

“Only maybe? I am really suffering, you know.” 

Villanelle pouts to emphasize her devastation. 

“I know.” The other woman’s lips twitch into a grin, but it’s not amused or sympathetic.

“From experience?”

The grin disappears and her eyes flash dangerously.

“Something like that.”

“Well then, all the more reason for us to get together,” Villanelle purrs, leaning in towards the other woman.

“I do believe we could have a… mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Whatever you wanna call it, baby.”

“To be clear, I want to hire you.”

“I am not a prostitute,” Villanelle smirks and leans even closer to the other woman, fingers ghosting over her forearm, and continues like she’s imparting a secret, “but you are very attractive, so you would not have to pay me to sleep with you anyways.”

The woman just looks mildly amused.

“Charming as ever, Villanelle,” she drawls back, “but I actually want to hire you to kill someone.”

Villanelle wasn’t expecting this. She leans back in her chair and looks at the woman again, more appraising this time. 

“Who are you?”

“I’m Missy.”

“Missy,” Villanelle says thoughtfully, rolling the name slowly in her mouth. “Hmm. Are you with the Twelve, Missy?”

“That sort of shadowy-syndicate thing you’ve got going on?” Missy rolls her eyes, looking bored. “Of course not.”

She mutters something else under her breath that sounds like  _ human nonsense _ .

Villanelle stays perfectly calm and collected in her seat, though inside she is calculating escape routes and places where more attackers might jump out from and which city she should head to next and which passport would be clean for the journey - 

“If you are not with the Twelve...how do you know who I am?”

At this, Missy brightens. 

“Oh, I’ve been following your career! Honestly, it is so hard these days to find someone killing with flair. I mean, any numpty can take a gun and shoot someone -”

Her blue eyes bore into Villanelle, who suddenly has the distinct impression that the woman definitely knows about the pistol tucked away in Villanelle’s waistband. 

“- but you’ve got such  _ style _ . Hairpin through the eye socket? Poisoned perfume? Gutted like a pig and strung up in a shop window? That’s artistry, that’s panache, that’s -”

Villanelle cuts her off. “So you are… a fan?”

“Oh yes. In fact, I’d say I’m your number one fan, if I didn’t already know for a fact the position was taken.”

She’s smirking now, the kind of look that says  _ I know something you don’t know _ , which Villanelle does not appreciate.

“And you are not here to kill me?” Villanelle asks slowly, disbelievingly.

“Now really, little old me? Do I look like a killer?”

The tone couldn’t be more innocent, but Missy’s smile widens and it’s absolutely predatory. She stares at Villanelle with cold, hard eyes.

“Yes.”

“Oh, you flatterer!” Missy looks genuinely pleased. “So what do you say? A couple of murders for your...second biggest fan?” She bats her eyelashes sweetly. Villanelle must look skeptical, because she continues immediately, “I’ll pay you double your usual rate, of course. Half upfront.”

Villanelle hesitates. She does not accept these sort of assignments, usually. But her life has gotten a lot more complicated lately. She might be unemployed now. It’s hard to say, because she doesn’t work for the sort of organization that sends a termination email. And if Missy wasn’t sent by the Twelve to kill her… Konstantin would probably say something about burning bridges, but he is an idiot with a fat wife, so what does he know?

“Who do you want me to kill?”

“A friend of mine,” Missy answers with a smile.

Other people might find the idea of hiring an assassin to kill a friend strange, but Villanelle knows it’s just like that sometimes. She nods as Missy slides her an envelope of cash and places three pictures down on top of it.

“Now, I have only two rules for you.” 

“I don’t do  _ rules _ ,” Villanelle responds coolly, leveling a challenging stare at the other woman.

“Of course you don’t!” Missy answers brightly. “It’s one of the things I like about you!” She leans in close to Villanelle and whispers conspiratorially, “Everyone knows all the best girls are rule-breakers.” She finishes the statement with a dramatic wink.

Villanelle just raises an eyebrow.

“I can assure you, you will retain full creative license to kill them off however you desire. That’s what I’ve tracked you down for, after all. However, in this one particular case of the utmost delicacy and space-time sensitivity, I must insist upon certain...guidelines.”

Missy smiles beguilingly, but her eyes are icy. Villanelle knows that look. She’s worn it herself many times.

“Okay,” Villanelle says slowly, contemplating the strange woman before her. “Tell me your rules, and I will… consider them.”

“Excellent!” Missy jumps to her feet, like she suddenly has too much energy coursing through her to sit at the little cafe table. “Rule 1,” she trills, rolling the R extravagantly and pointing an umbrella at Villanelle for emphasis, “You must make all three kills on the same day!”

Villanelle shrugs, feigning indifference. She dislikes being told what to do on principle, but this isn’t exactly a difficult rule to follow. After all, killing them faster just means she gets paid faster.

“I’ve done all the figuring and it can be done on one specific day, when they’ll all be in place,” Missy continues. “The idiot does spend too much time on Earth,” she muses, seemingly to herself.

_ Too much time on Earth? _ Villanelle is confused, but she doesn’t let it show. Instead, she asks:

“And rule two?”

“Rule 2,” Missy declares, rolling the R again, “is that you absolutely must kill them...  _ In. This. Order. _ ” She strikes each of the pictures in turn on her last three words, pointing first at a blonde woman, then a grey haired man, and then a younger man in a bow tie. “Otherwise, they’ll remember you and the fun will be over before it even starts. Capiche?” 

_ Not really _ , Villanelle thinks, but out loud she just shrugs and says “Sure.”

“Excellent!” Missy exclaims again, spinning in place. “The details of their death are, of course, entirely up to you, dear. Don’t be afraid to really let yourself go! What’s a murder without some pizazz, am I right?” She does a little shoulder shimmy for emphasis.

Villanelle rolls her eyes, then shifts her focus away from the madwoman and back to the pictures of her future victims. Flipping them over, she sees someone - Missy herself, presumably - has neatly penned in details about each target on the back of the picture, including a category labeled “Death Date.” Villanelle frowns at it.

“Death date - September 17,” she reads out loud.

“Yes, that would be the day that you kill them.”

“But today is September 23.”

“Oh, is it?” Missy says, voice full of faux innocence betrayed by her wicked grin. “I guess I’ll have to give you a lift then.”

Without warning she lunges at Villanelle, grabbing her by the arm. There’s a melodic  _ beep beep _ ! and the women vanish.


	2. Nice Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle vs. Thirteen.

There’s a moment, a split second where Villanelle feels simultaneously weightless and impossibly constrained, and then she’s falling hard on her ass, gasping for breath. Next to her, Missy lets out a maniacal whooping laugh. Villanelle scowls at the grating noise and turns to choke the woman into silence, but she’s already up off the ground and dancing out of reach.

It’s then that Villanelle realizes they’re no longer in the cafe.

Instead of finding herself sprawled on a Roman sidewalk she’s now sitting in some sort of town square, early morning sun shining down on them.

It had been late evening a second before.

She blinks dumbly up at the sky for a second. Then just as fast, she’s on her feet, pushing Missy up against a wall and pinning her in place by the neck.

“Where am I?” Villanelle growls, letting her natural Russian accent come through now. She finds it intimidates people more.

“Exactly where you need to be,” Missy answers, looking completely unphased by their new position and by Villanelle’s changed voice. “You’re welcome.”

She grins sweetly and Villanelle tightens her grip on Missy’s throat, scowling down at her. Missy bats her eyelashes coquettishly, as if she’s enjoying it.

“Where. Am. I.” Villanelle spits out. “And how did I get here?”

At this, Missy actually rolls her eyes.

“Do try to keep up. We’re in Sheffield, and you’ve got a job to do.”

Villanelle’s eyes widen. She tries to take in her surroundings again without letting her attention stray from the other woman. They definitely weren’t in Rome anymore. _ It might be Sheffield… _

“How - “

“Trust me dear, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Now, if you head just a few blocks that way -” Missy tilts her head to indicate the direction, “you’ll find Blondie and we can get this whole cross-country murder-adventure started, hmm?”

Villanelle blinks back at her. She’s not used to feeling unsure, and she is...well,  _ unsure _ what to do about it now.

“Go on then! Off you pop!” 

And then she’s not sure how it happens, but Villanelle is once again sprawled on the ground, blinking up at Missy’s amused, slightly predatory smile. The woman blows her a kiss, says “Ta-ta!” and then  _ disappears into thin air  _ with another melodic  _ beep-beep _ !

_ What the fuck? _

Villanelle is glad no one seems to be around, because she’s sure she’s looking incredibly stupid right now, ass in the dirt and staring into empty space.

It’s this thought that gets Villanelle to haul herself up and start off purposefully down the street. First things first, she needs to figure out where she is. And if she’s walking in the direction Missy indicated, it’s not because she’s taking orders or anything, it’s just because this way has some little shops up ahead and it makes the most sense to head towards civilization if she wants answers. It’s  _ her _ decision.

She steals a newspaper off a storefront, which informs her that she is indeed in Sheffield.

It also indicates that today is last week.

She snags a second paper, and then a third, but they all say the same thing.

Villanelle takes a deep breath. This is a very odd sort of prank to pull, making her think she has gone back in time. But only a week. That is not a very good joke, Villanelle reasons. _ If someone wants me to go really crazy, they should make me think I have time-traveled much longer. So, it is a bad joke, and I do not care.  _

Villanelle lets out the breath and continues up the street. She is good at compartmentalizing like that. 

Still, she is not sure yet if the murders are also a part of the joke, or if she is really expected to kill three people today. The easiest way to find out, she reasons, is to see if her first target really is where Missy said she would be. If she is there, Villanelle will kill her. If she is not there, Villanelle will kill someone else, because it has been a very trying day already. And then she can figure the rest out as she goes. Villanelle is flexible like that.

It is only then with visions of impending murder dancing in her head that Villanelle realizes what her sudden displacement means: somehow, she’s stuck in Sheffield while her wardrobe full of weapons and disguises sits untouched in her flat.

Villanelle doesn’t  _ need _ those things, of course. She can kill anyone, with anything. But she  _ likes _ having them with her. She has favorites! She pouts childishly and kicks over the nearest rubbish bin in her frustration. It only makes her feel a little better. Next she groans so loudly a man walking his dog on the other side of the street turns to look at her - or maybe he was already looking, because of the bin thing? - either way, she gives him and his stupid dog the finger and they keep walking.

Thinking wistfully about the new knife that slots right into her stiletto heels, sitting in a wardrobe in Paris, Villanelle takes stock of what she does have. Her trusty hairpin, devilishly sharp and perfect for stabbing. A small black handgun, one bullet missing (but Villanelle doesn’t want to think about that). And...that’s about it. She might be able to strangle someone with her shoelaces, but they’re not that strong and would probably break. And then Villanelle would not only have failed to kill someone, she will have ruined perfectly nice boots. No, she will just have to make something up once she catches sight of her targets. Villanelle prides herself on her ability to improvise.

She’s nearing the end of the shops now. Hardly anyone is out this early in the day. Villanelle pulls out the pictures Missy gave her, hoping she will not have to wait around to see if her first victim shows up. Villanelle doesn’t like waiting. She studies the first photo, taking in the woman’s cropped blonde hair and wide smile.  _ Nice face _ , Villanelle thinks.  _ Very cute. _ Turning the picture over, she reads:

_ Name: The Doctor _

_ AKA: Blondie, Copycat _

_ Death Date: September 17 _

_ Death Location: Sheffield _

_ Likes: inventing, suppressing negative emotions _

_ Pets: ? _

_ Notes: Scarier than they look. _

None of this seems particularly helpful, but Villanelle is used to working with even less information, so she’s not bothered.

After walking for a while and growing more and more frustrated, she’s about to enact Plan B of “kill a random person” when she spots a flash of blonde hair in a mechanic’s bay at the end of the road. 

Villanelle ducks behind a parked car and watches as the woman crouches down to rummage through a toolbox. She’s wearing braces over a rainbow-striped T-shirt and giant rounded welding goggles.

She looks ridiculous.

The woman digs through the toolkit and reaches up to work on something raised by the hydraulic lift. It’s not a car. It looks like a big wooden box, but with a bunch of wires and metal bits poking out from underneath.

Weird.

Villanelle glances down at the picture, skimming the details Missy provided.

_ Scarier than she looks  _ jumps out at her.

Villanelle looks back up in time to see the woman shift sideways, trip over the open toolbox, flail spectacuarly, and grab a section of overhanging wire to steady herself, which promptly starts sparking angrily. The woman steps back, pulling up her bug-eye goggles and swatting wildly at the glowing embers covering her shoulders. In doing so she kicks the toolbox and almost falls again.

Villanelle snorts with laugher. She’s seen puppies scarier than this woman.

She turns her attention to the surrounding area, deciding what she should use to make her move. She could hotwire this car and drive it into the woman as she worked, but crashing into the back wall of the mechanic’s bay would probably hurt Villanelle a good bit, and she had a busy day ahead of her. She could grab anything from the toolbox and just smash her target’s head in… but that was a bit  _ boring _ . Finally, her eyes lock on several canisters labeled “flammable” shelved on one wall.

Villanelle’s heart soars. She hasn’t blown anything up in  _ forever _ .

Villanelle waits for the woman to turn her attention back to her project. Then she wanders into the open mechanic’s bay, nudging a can of paint thinner off a shelf as she goes. It crashes down with a loud clatter and starts leaking all over the floor. The blonde woman looks over at the commotion.

“Oh geez, oh no, I’m sorry, I’m such a klutz,” Villanelle gushes, accent flawlessly adapting to sound like a local.

She grabs a rag hanging under a shelf and starts to soak up the spill as her target comes closer.

“I’ll get it cleaned up right away,” Villanelle continues, pretending to focus entirely on the spill and not the other woman’s approach.

“Aw, it’s no problem, I’m always makin’ a mess.”

Villanelle looks up and shoots her a sheepish smile. For the barest second there’s a flicker of... _ something _ in the blonde’s eyes, but then it’s gone, and she’s smiling warmly at Villanelle, bending down with her own rag to help. The two of them make quick work of the mess. 

Standing up, the woman takes her soiled rag and tosses it in the direction of the bin on the opposite wall. She misses it entirely. Villanelle pockets her own rag while her back is turned.

“I’m the Doctor, by the way.” She offers her hand for Villanelle to shake.

_ Pretty pretentious to go around asking people to call you ‘The Doctor,’ _ Villanelle thinks, but figures it’s best not to comment.

“Natalie.”

“Well, I think you’re here a bit early Natalie. No one in but me,” Doctor Rainbow Shirt says.

_ Good, then no one will bother us. _

“ - and I uh. Don’t actually work here, so -”

“That’s okay, really, I’m just waiting for my mechanic to get in so I can pick up my car,” Villanelle explains, gesturing to a few bays down where the garage door is clearly closed and locked. “I know I’m a bit early, and I got bored waiting -”

“Oh, do you want me to help you get it now?”

“I thought you said you didn’t work here?”

“I don’t,” the woman answers, grinning widely, “but I’m good with locks.”

She pulls something out of her pocket then. Something long and silver and curved and… 

Vibrating?

_ Okay. That was...unexpected. _

Villanelle switches tactics.

“I bet you get into all sorts of places you shouldn’t,” Villanelle says teasingly, biting her lower lip and taking a step closer to the Doctor.

“Yeah, bad habit of mine. Bit of a troublemaker, me.”

“Oh, so you’re a bad girl?” Villanelle purrs, sliding even closer. Her eyes dart up almost imperceptibly to take note of the exposed wires hanging above the other woman’s head, the ones that had been sparking earlier.

The blonde’s face scrunches up in confusion.

“A bad girl...oh! Right! I’m a girl!”

She beams up at Villanelle like this is a novel realization. And Villanelle’s ego is taking a hit, because no one has ever disregarded her obvious flirting so completely before.

“I like bad girls,” Villanelle tries again, putting a little extra smoulder into her tone.

“Great, then we’ll be a good team!” the Doctor smiles brightly, oblivious. 

Villanelle decides to give up. 

“So did you want me to help you get your car out?”

“Oh no, it’s alright. I don’t want to be a bother. What are you working on?” Villanelle asks, quickly changing the subject.

“Oh you know, a little of this, a little of that,” the Doctor answers cheerfully, looking back up into the mess of wires and bits sticking out above her head. “I just dropped my mates off so I have some time to do a little tinkering -”

While she speaks, Villanelle circles back behind the lift slowly, pretending to examine the Doctor’s project, while really wringing out the rag stuffed in her pocket all over the floor.

“ - check the circuits, redo some wiring, change the lightbulbs, that sort of thing.”

The Doctor turns to fish something else out of her toolkit. Villanelle takes the opportunity to yank on an already low-hanging wire, leaving it dragging on the ground. She drops the rag next to it for good measure.

“And after you do all that, what happens?” Villanelle asks, now fully behind her target and out of sight. She turns on the gas to a blow torch. “What does it do?”

Villanelle rounds the other side of the box and comes abruptly face to face with the other woman. The goofy smile is gone and her eyes are cold.

”I think you’d better step back now.” She’s lowered her voice and the tone is hard, the words coming out slowly, carefully, dangerously. “In fact, I think it’d be best if you walked away right now, and never came back.”

“I don’t know what you -”

“Did you think I wouldn’t realize what you were doing?” she continues in the same slow, hard tone, eyes boring into Villanelle’s challengingly.

Villanelle sighs inwardly. Right, well. If the woman wasn’t going to be tricked into setting herself on fire, Villanelle would have to get the ball rolling herself. She lunges back towards the blow torch - 

But it’s not really a lunge so much as a stumble, half a stumble even, and she certainly doesn’t get anywhere near her intended destination. Villanelle feels suddenly like her limbs are incredibly heavy, like they don’t move properly. She starts to fall.

The Doctor catches her as her legs give out and pushes her back into a chair.

“Whhh-” Villanelle tries to speak, but it’s like her tongue is sticking to the inside of her mouth and her jaw is wired shut.

“Special neurotoxin from Delta Minor. It takes some time to absorb into the skin, but the effects are pretty powerful afterwards. Full-body muscle paralysis.”

Villanelle stares at her from the chair, insides churning with rage but unable to move.

The Doctor leans in close to Villanelle’s face, putting them eye to eye.

“It’s awfully rude to shake someone’s hand and then try to murder them.”

The women stare at each other for a moment, before the sound of approaching footsteps makes the Doctor pull away.

“Doc? You still here?”

“Yeah, still here!” the Doctor calls back, her wide smile and cheery demeanor sliding back into place like a mask.

An older man rounds the corner into the mechanic’s bay, looking disgruntled.

“Doc, you got the year wrong again. We’re too early! I only noticed cuz I stopped to get the paper -”

He stops talking as he notices Villanelle sitting stiffly in the chair.

“Oh, hello. Who are you then?”

Villanelle, of course, can’t answer.

“Oh, just an old friend of mine, popping in for a quick chat,” the Doctor says breezily.

The man frowns.

“Is she okay? She looks…”

“She’s fine! C’mon, we better go find Ryan and Yaz before they go mucking up their personal pasts. Can’t believe I got the year wrong again!”

The Doctor strides confidently past the man and out towards the street. He takes a hesitant step towards her, but then looks back at Villanelle.

“Are we just going to leave her there? Your friend?”

“Yup!” The Doctor calls back over her shoulder.

The man sighs and starts to follow her.

“And you’re sure she’s alright?”

“Oh, she will be,” Villanelle hears the Doctor say as the pair disappear around the corner. “Villanelle’s got a big day ahead of her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark!Thirteen Dark!Thirteen Dark!Thirteen!
> 
> Also it's fun to imagine my two favorite Jodies together :)


	3. Desperate Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slight change of plans... Villanelle vs. Eleven

If Villanelle was angry at being unceremoniously uprooted and dropped in Sheffield (she still didn’t understand  _ how _ she had gotten there at all), it was nothing compared to the rage she felt when the toxin finally wore off and allowed her to move again.

She slumps in her seat, muttering angrily to herself in a variety of languages, shredding a newspaper viciously and occasionally kicking the seat in front of her for good measure. It’s not surprising that she now has most of the train car to herself. She’s never looked more murderous - and that includes all the times she was literally killing people.

Villanelle has never failed to kill someone before. Well, she failed to kill Eve, sort of, but that hadn’t been a real assignment since Eve hired the hit herself. Villanelle’s mouth twitches into a smile at the thought, like it always does when she thinks about Eve. But then Villanelle remembers how she last saw Eve… The smile quickly turns into a scowl again.

Anger is a much safer emotion right now, so that’s what Villanelle feels. Because she is back to thinking that this whole job is some sort of elaborate plot to make her look stupid. And Villanelle is not stupid. Clearly, whoever this Missy person is, she is trying to set Villanelle up for failure. Her “targets” are probably in on the whole thing too, since the last one knew her name. She doesn’t know why Missy would go through the trouble. Maybe Villanelle slept with her lover, and then killed her, and now Missy wants revenge. (It wouldn’t be the first time.)

Villanelle’s eyes narrow as the plot solidifies in her mind, and she knows what she’s going to do next. Villanelle messes with people. People do not get to mess with Villanelle. So Villanelle is going to kill the other two people on her hit list, because Missy clearly thinks she won’t be able to. Then she is going to collect her payment. And then she will kill Missy herself for thinking Villanelle is someone who can be played with.

Villanelle is smiling again. 

When she hops off the train in Gloucester and steals a car, her mood has fully turned around - thanks to a combination of kill-anticipation and her glee at deliberately disobeying Missy’s rules. Frankly, this would have happened even if Villanelle wasn’t trying to be contrary - it simply didn’t make sense to travel all the way down to Bristol and then come back up to Gloucester. It would be stupid and a waste of time.

Yes, Villanelle knows best.

She stops for petrol and pulls out the photo of her second target.

_ Name: The Doctor _

_ AKA: Chin Boy, Bow Tie _

_ Death Date: September 17 _

_ Death Location: Leadworth  _

_ Likes: stupid hats, messing with timelines _

_ Pets: the Scottish one, the pretty one, the ““wife””, Clara _

_ Notes: Smarter than they look. _

Again, not much to go off of, although she was mildly interested in seeing “ _ the wife _ ” in what appeared to be sarcastic quotes.

She gets directions to Leadworth (who’s even heard of Leadworth?) and starts off again.

When Villanelle arrives at the specified address, it seems there’s a party going on.

She parks a block away and steals a flowy blouse off a clothing line on her way over. (Her current look was very nighttime chic, and she wanted to blend in. Also, her jacket smelled like paint thinner. Also, she likes stealing people’s things.)

Newly outfitted, Villanelle strides confidently into a back garden full of mingling guests and heads straight for a table piled high with food. She squeezes in next to a middle-aged pair who have stopped to have a conversation right next to the hors d'oeuvres instead of moving away to make room for other people.  _ Very rude _ , Villanelle thinks, and she makes sure to “accidentally” elbow them in her pursuit of sausage rolls.

“ - and Magda’s got that exchange student staying at hers now that James has moved out, we’re supposed to have them round for tea next week. You should come by,” the woman is telling the man.

The man makes a noncommittal sort of reply, the kind that’s polite on the surface but implies he will absolutely not be stopping by for tea. Villanelle steals a small but sharp-looking knife from the cheese platter and tucks it into her pocket.

The woman graciously accepts the man’s reply, because she didn’t really want him round for tea anyway. (The whole interaction is very British.) She excuses herself to go speak to someone else. Villanelle helps herself to some sort of sparkling juice in a tall glass with a red-and-white striped straw. She slides closer to the man lingering near the table.

“Have you seen our host anywhere?” Villanelle asks conversationally, mirroring his own accent. It’s always good to know whose party you were crashing, as they were the one most likely to realize you were crashing it.

“Rory’s over there,” he answers, pointing out a man in the crowd, “but I lost track of Amy a while ago. She was chasing after that doctor friend of hers, the odd fellow, you know - or do you? Sorry, how do you know -”

Villanelle cuts him off by taking a long, loud slurp through her straw. When she stops, she smiles widely at the man, but doesn’t say anything. He clears his throat awkwardly.

“Did you go to school together or -”

_ SLUUUUUUUURP. _

He stares at her for a moment, then says, “Right, I think I’m going to -”

_ SLURP SLURP SLUUUUURP. _

Villanelle drains her drink, the straw noise getting louder as she sucks at the bottom of the empty glass.

The man walks away.

Villanelle grins and returns her attention to the crowd, shoveling hors d'oeuvres into her mouth. After a moment she spots her target. The picture failed to capture his manic energy, but the floppy fringe and large chin are unmistakable. He’s the guy. Right now he’s weaving through the crowd...pointing a stick at people?

“Excuse me, sorry,” a voice says to her left.

She looks over to see the man identified as their host - Rory - trying to edge past her to add ice to the drinks.

“Lovely spread, Rory. Thanks so much for having us,” Villanelle says, adopting a heavy French accent.

“Oh. Uh, thank you,” Rory answers, clearly looking like he’s trying to place her. “Sorry, have we met?”

“Ah,  _ non _ . I am Cecile, Magda’s exchange student.” Villanelle extends her hand toward him facing downward, like she expects him to kiss it.

Rory goes a bit pink, shuffles his feet, then shakes her downturned palm awkwardly instead.

“Right, of course. I didn’t realize you’d arrived already. Nice to meet you.”

Villanelle smiles but doesn’t say anything else, guessing - correctly - that Rory was the type to either fill an awkward silence or excuse himself quickly.

“Have you met my wife?” he blurts.

Villanelle opens her mouth to respond in the negative, but the approach of people arguing loudly from behind stops her.

“But Amy,” a voice whines. “There’s traces of artron energy -”

“I don’t care about artron energy! I care that you’re trying to ruin yet ANOTHER party -”

A gasp.

“I do not RUIN parties! I am the best at parties!”

The bickering voices draw closer and Rory sighs, looking over Villanelle’s shoulder.

She turns to see a pretty redheaded woman arguing with her target. The man is so caught up in insisting he’s “very cool and fun” that he almost walks right into Villanelle. At the last second, the redhead grabs him by the braces and yanks, causing his arms to windmill for a moment before he stops.

“Oh, sorry! Didn’t see you. Have you been there the whole time?” he asks her.

“Yes?”

“Right! Course you were.”

Villanelle wonders if this one is a bit mad.

Rory clears his throat and steps in to make the proper introductions. “Cecile, this is my wife Amy, and our friend the Doctor,” he says, gesturing to them. “Cecile is Magda’s exchange student.”

_ Another doctor? _ Villanelle rolls her eyes internally, but smiles warmly and extends her hand first to Amy and then to the Doctor.

Amy smiles and shakes her hand like a normal person. The Doctor takes her hand in both of his and shakes so enthusiastically she grits her teeth against the vibration.

“Nice to meet you, Cecile! And which one is Magda…?” He trails off, gazing over her shoulder at the crowd, still gripping her hand. 

Villanelle uses his momentary distraction to snatch her hand back.

“Oh, nevermind, I’m sure I’ll get around to meeting her. Now what was I doing before...oh!” he snaps his fingers and reaches into his suit jacket, pulling out a funny-looking torch with a green tip. “Tracking the -”

“You were just going to properly join the party, like we discussed,” Amy says loudly over him.

“But -”

“Doctor, you promised,” Rory chimes in seriously. “No…”

He glances nervously at Villanelle. Which of course, only makes her more interested in what it is he doesn’t want to say in front of her.

“...building cabinets,” he finishes lamely.

_ Huh? _

A wide smile spreads across Amy’s face, like this is very funny. “Yeah Doctor. No  _ building cabinets _ during the party. That was the deal.”

The Doctor glances from one to the other, looking extremely put out.

“You name your sonic multipurpose tool a ‘screwdriver’  _ one time _ and suddenly it’s nothing but cabinet jokes for three hundred years,” he grumbles under his breath.

“Sorry?” Villanelle asks, and the confusion isn’t an act.

“I actually think we should go put your… screwdriver… in your… car. So you won’t be tempted anymore,” Amy says and begins dragging the Doctor away from the group.

“What d’you mean, my car? Is that what you’re calling the tar-”

“So nice meeting you Cecile!” Amy calls back over her shoulder, drowning him out.

Villanelle turns back to Rory, who quickly seems to realize this interaction was going to prompt more questions.

“I uh, better go see if they need help. With the… car,” he says, and heads off after the pair.

Villanelle watches the trio walk away… heading not for the street, but farther back into the garden. She shoves her last sausage roll into her mouth and thrusts the now empty plate into the hands of a random man approaching the buffet.

“ _ Merci _ !” she says, smiling sweetly at his confused face and hurrying off after her target.

Villanelle watches as they disappear inside a tall blue wooden box marked “Police” tucked away in the farthest corner of the garden. It must be some kind of novelty photo booth for the party guests.

Villanelle’s pulse pounds with excitement. She’s never killed anyone in a photo booth before! That sounds amazing. She will start the camera right before and capture every second of the kill. Then she will give the pictures to Missy to rub in her smug face for thinking she could outsmart Villanelle.

She slides the stolen knife out of her pocket. Then she opens the door of the box and steps inside, manic grin in place, knife raised high to plunge into -

No one.

Villanelle almost drops the knife in shock. She had, of course, been expecting to surprise three people crammed together in a tiny box. But it wasn’t a tiny box. Inside it was  _ huge _ .

Villanelle looks up at the cavernous ceiling above her, impossibly taller than the box she has stepped into.

“Hello again,” a voice says calmly.

Villanelle snaps back to attention. The path in front of her leads into a large circular room. In front of a tall, glowing column stands her target and his friends.

Amy and Rory look surprised to see her. Nervous. Maybe even scared. 

Her target does not.

He has one arm outstretched, pointing that weird torch in her direction.

“I told you I detected artron energy,” he says quietly, seemingly to his companions, though his eyes never leave Villanelle’s. “She’s been displaced.”

Villanelle takes a step towards them.

The green tip of the Doctor’s torch lights up with a whirring noise, and Villanelle’s knife burns incredibly hot, searing her hand. She drops it. It clatters across the metal grating of the floor, sliding some distance away.

“You’re not Cecile, are you?” he asks, voice low and serious. The manic energy has disappeared and his eyes are cold.

“No,” she growls, and then charges at him.

“Emergency protocol 24-B!” the Doctor yells.

Villanelle doesn’t have time to wonder what that means. The grated floor beneath her feet suddenly shoots upward at a sharp angle, knocking her off her feet and sending her rolling backwards.

She rolls right back through the open doors of the box and out into the garden. The doors slam shut.

Villanelle springs to her feet. She grabs the door handle, shaking and yanking, and then the box starts making a funny noise. A whirring-wheezing noise, and a light on the top starts spinning, and why can’t Villanelle get a grip on the handle? Why is her view of the box getting hazy?

In a last-ditch effort she throws herself bodily at the doors, intending to smash them open. 

She crashes down onto the ground instead.

The box is gone, and so is her target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attractive woman: *talks to Rory*  
> Rory: HAVE YOU MET MY WIFE??


	4. Don't I Know You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle vs. Twelve.

After the initial rush of hot rage that flooded Villanelle as she watched the blue box disappear, she finds her head has gone deadly calm.

She has one more chance to ruin Missy’s plan. One more kill to make. And Villanelle knows with deadly certainty she  _ will _ make this one. Then, she will find Missy and claim she has killed all three. Missy will never know of Villanelle’s failed attempts because she will not live long enough to hear about them.

The location of her final victim is a college in Bristol.

Easy.

The man in her last picture is old and unlikely to be a student, so Villanelle deduces he works at the school. She heads straight to the main office and - in her sweetest tone and poshest accent - explains to the woman behind the desk that she’s a visiting student who’s supposed to be attending a lecture, only she’s forgotten the name of the lecturer, and it’s so embarrassing, she can’t believe it, and she hates to be a bother but you probably know everyone here, and could you possibly recognize him from a picture and help fix this miserable day she’s having?

Villanelle holds up the picture of a grey-haired man, taking care to fill her eyes with absolutely pitiable desperation as she pleads with the office worker.

“Oh, that’s the Doctor,” the woman behind the desk says easily.

“Yes, but Doctor  _ who _ ?” Villanelle questions. 

The woman makes a face like this is amusing. Villanelle struggles to stamp down on her irritation and keep her face soft and needy. Why did it seem like everyone was in on a joke except her today?

The woman does not answer the question and instead directs Villanelle to a lecture hall where she can find Doctor No Name.

“Thank you,” Villanelle says sweetly, fake smile plastered in place.

The woman goes back to her computer and Villanelle tips over a stand of informational brochures on her way out, smiling for real now.

On her way to the lecture hall she glances over the details scrawled on the back of the picture she’s still holding.

_ Name: The Doctor _

_ AKA: Ranting Scotsman, Eyebrows, Granddad, Doctor Disco _

_ Death Date: September 17 _

_ Death Location: Bristol _

_ Likes: moody guitar solos, moral superiority _

_ Pets: Clara, the student one, the egg one _

_ Notes: Softer than they look _

Villanelle ignores all of it except for the last line. She didn’t know if the rest of the information was true, and if it was it didn’t really matter. But the last bit… 

Villanelle knows now she underestimated her first two targets. The smiling blonde woman had ultimately been a more fearsome opponent than she appeared. And the goofy man in the bow tie had been smarter than Villanelle anticipated. Technically, Missy had warned her about both of them.

It may be hard to underestimate “softer than they look,” but it shouldn’t be hard at all to take advantage of.

When Villanelle slips into the lecture hall, class has already started. She looks around for an empty seat - preferably next to someone who looks willing to tell her more about her target. She glances over a couple disinterested faces and two who haven’t looked up from their phones before she sees her. The girl is watching the Doctor’s lecture with rapt attention, a smile breaking across her pretty face as she listens. She has dark, curly hair and she’s wearing a jean jacket covered in rainbow pins.

Villanelle squeezes past some other students to flop down in the seat next to her. The girl glances over as she sits down. Villanelle bites back a smile when the girl does a little double-take and then looks away nervously.

_ Perfect _ .

“I haven’t missed too much, have I?” Villanelle asks her earnestly, keeping the same posh accent she’d used in the office.

“Nah, he’s just getting warmed up,” the girl replies with an encouraging smile.

“Oh good. I’ve just transferred and there was a problem with my schedule, I’ve been in the front office for  _ hours _ trying to get it fixed, and now I’m late, and I just don’t want to -” Villanelle shakes her head. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I’m Lily.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m Bill,” the girl says, “and I’m sure your day is only going to get better.”

“I think it already has,” Villanelle answers with a shy smile.

Bill looks away with a smile of her own.

Villanelle turns her attention to her target, currently scrawling across a blackboard.

He doesn’t much look the role of a uni professor - his clothes are sort of grunge-punk, if Villanelle had to label them - but he certainly commands the room like one. He moves around the floor, gesturing excitedly, exclaiming in a thick Scottish accent.

After 15 minutes, Villanelle realizes she has no idea what the lecture is even supposed to be about. It started with something about the physics of outer space, and then it went to ancient Greece, and then suddenly the man was reciting poetry.

“He’s good, huh?” Bill asks, nudging Villanelle in the side and breaking her intense stare.

“Yeah,” Villanelle agrees. “I mean, I don’t know if I understand anything that’s happening, but he’s amazing.”   
  
“You get used to it,” Bill smiles.

The lecture passes quickly, and Villanelle is surprised that she doesn’t get bored. When the Doctor dismisses the class, a wave of students standing up to leave blocks Villanelle’s view. When they clear out, the Doctor is gone.

“Where did he go?” Villanelle asks, obvious frustration seeping into her voice.

“He tends to duck out right after class. Not very social,” Bill shrugs.

“Oh,” Villanelle says, voice heavy with disappointment. “I wanted to go introduce myself. Make a good impression, you know? Say I liked the lecture.”

“I can take you to his office,” Bill offers.

“Oh, could you? I’d really appreciate it,” Villanelle replies earnestly.

Bill leads Villanelle to an office. It appears empty, but Villanelle can hear the sound of a guitar being played softly somewhere.

“I’ll grab him,” Bill says, heading towards the music. “Make yourself comfortable!”

“Thanks!” Villanelle answers with a big smile.

As she turns in place, examining the office, the smile turns into a scowl when she spots it: a big blue box sitting in one corner.

It looks just like the one her last target escaped in.

Villanelle knows that can’t be a coincidence.

“ - okay, okay, fine, I’ll go say -” a voice grumbles, growing louder.

Villanelle spins in place towards the sound.

“ - hello,” the Doctor finishes as he appears in the room, directing this to Villanelle.

She steps forward, careful to keep herself between the man and the blue box.

“Hello! I hope you don’t mind my coming by without an appointment. I just wanted to say I loved your lecture today.”

Villanelle gives the grey-haired man her most winning smile.

“You look familiar,” the Doctor frowns at her. “Do I know you?”

“Oh, you’ve probably seen me at your lectures,” Villanelle responds easily, smiling sweetly.

“I thought you said it was your first day?” Bill asks, confused.

The Doctor’s frown deepens, and Villanelle can see that there really is - impossibly - a spark of recognition in his eyes. She decides, resignedly, that she’s going to have to do away with all the fun charade and finesse she had planned for her dramatic final kill and cut to the chase.

Her most charming smile still in place, she pulls the decorative hair pin from her bun and lunges forward in one smooth, unstoppable motion, plunging the dagger-like pin into the old man’s jugular.

Or that’s what should have happened.

Instead Villanelle’s hand strikes down on empty air, and at the same time she becomes aware the man is already behind her, grabbing her around the shoulders and tugging quickly, sending her sprawling onto her back on the floor in an impossible display of speed and strength.

_ How the fuck -  _

But that’s all she has time to think before she feels a quick pressure on the side of her neck near her shoulder and she rapidly loses consciousness.

/ /

Villanelle comes to a while later, the sound of arguing voices echoing slightly around her. She flexes her arms a little - she’s been tied to a chair. She shifts the slightest bit and opens her eyes just enough to take stock of her surroundings. There’s not much to see: the room, while cavernous, looks empty except for a grand piano directly in front of her. Well, the piano and her captives, still arguing around her. 

“Look, I know you had something to do with this,” her grey-haired target says in an accusing tone.

“Me? Well, I never!” comes the response from somewhere behind Villanelle, and the Scottish voice is dripping in saccharin innocence but something about it is familiar...

“You’ve already been caught out, you might as well own up now,” the girl called Bill answers. “Who is she?”

“Nevermind that,” the grumpy old one snaps. “This isn’t some alien invasion or your basic world domination plot. She’s human.” 

_ Alien invasion _ ? Villanelle thinks.  _ Great, this one’s completely nuts. _

“Yes, thank you Doctor Obvious,” the voice behind Villanelle snarks, as footsteps circle around her once and stop in front of her this time. “I can see that she’s human. What I can’t see is why you would think I have anything to do with this.”

Maybe it’s the way the tone switches from sweet to snarky so instantly, or maybe it’s the derision in her voice when she says  _ humans _ , but suddenly Villanelle recognizes the voice and knows who’s going to be standing in front of her when she opens her eyes. No one even notices when Villanelle stops pretending to be unconscious and starts staring at her bizarre arguing captors, the ranks of whom include not only her target, but her mysterious employer.

“Maybe because you’re always trying to kill me?” Doctor Obvious counters matter-of-factly.

“Yes, but I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself, so why would I outsource the job?”

“For fun?” a bald man dressed in a violently red coat pipes up.

Missy spins in place to glare at him and he flinches back instinctively. She raises a finger menacingly at him, but then just says, “Fair point.”

She turns back to Grouchy Eyebrows and continues, “but I didn’t do it.”

He throws his hands in the air and opens his mouth as if to argue further.

Missy rolls her eyes spectacularly and cuts him off.

“Honestly, why would I hire a  _ human _ to kill you when your own wife couldn’t get the job done?”

“Sorry, what?” Bill splutters. 

The Doctor just shakes his head at her and mutters, “Not now.”

Bill does not seem to appreciate being brushed off like this, folding her arms and muttering crossly under her breath. Villanelle can’t blame her for being disappointed - she wants to hear more about the murderous wife too. But, since that doesn’t seem to be on the table - and since having freed herself from her bonds several minutes ago - it seemed it was time to move on to the next phase of all of this. Whatever this was turning out to be.

Villanelle gives a little cough to remind them all she’s still sitting there, alive and well and quite murderous while they squabble amongst themselves like schoolchildren. 

“Oh good, you’re awake,” the Doctor says drolly. “Now you can tell me who sent you to kill me.”

“She did,” Villanelle volunteers readily, pointing to Missy. 

“What?!” Missy cries, in apparently genuine surprise, at the same time Bill yells, “I knew it!” and the Doctor mutters, “Of course.”

Villanelle takes this moment of confusion to pull the gun from her waistband and fire it at her employer and her target in rapid succession.

The gun clicks emptily both times. Villanelle stares down at it, confused.

“No guns in the vault,” Missy tsks, like she’s scolding a naughty child.

“No guns at all,” the Doctor says sternly, swiping it from Villanelle’s loosened grip and tossing it over at the bald man. He fumbles it, drops it on the ground, and scurries to pick it back up and tuck it into his red jacket.

The Doctor sighs. Missy looks exasperated. Villanelle seethes silently.

“So what now?” Bill asks. “Do we just… let her go?”

“Yes,” the Doctor answers, “but not yet. She’s been displaced.”

“Displaced?”

“In  _ time _ ,” Missy rolls her eyes, as if this is obvious. “You can practically smell it on her. Not long out of sync, I’d say. A few days… no, a week.”

The Doctor appears to consider this, expression grim.

Then suddenly, his face breaks into a grin.

“Well then. Looks like you’ve hired yourself a cell mate, Missy.”

“WHAT?” Missy and Villanelle cry out at the same time.

“Er - Doctor - are you sure that’s a good -” the bald man starts nervously.

“Nardole, Bill, let’s give these ladies some time to get acquainted. Or re-acquainted, as the case may be,” he continues cheerfully.

The Doctor quickly ushers them away from Villanelle and Missy and out the door.

The Doctor himself pauses in the entryway, turning back to the two women. He goes stern again, directing his angry eyebrows at Missy.

“Do  _ not _ kill her. You’ll make an even bigger paradox out of this whole mess.”

He turns to leave, apparently not even considering that Villanelle might be the one doing the killing.

“I know,” Missy whines back, arms crossed. “But -”

“No rules for me then?” Villanelle interrupts, calling after the Doctor. “I am going to kill her and then I am going to come kill you, you know.”

The Doctor, much to Villanelle’s frustration, doesn’t even turn around to offer his smug reply.

“You can certainly try.”

The door slams shut behind him.

And that’s how Villanelle ends up locked in some sort of underground bunker for a week with her new employer. The one who is apparently a time-traveling alien and super criminal in her own right.

But that’s another story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m actually working on a pop-out fic that’s just Villanelle’s time in the vault with Missy. It was originally going to be a part of this one, but it got a bit long to really fit (I’m just having too much fun putting the two of them together). Look out for that to be posted soon!
> 
> Epilogue (featuring Eve!) will be up tomorrow :)


	5. Epilogue: World Enough and Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a wild Eve appears

Eve lies in a hospital bed, staring dully at the ceiling. 

It’s been little more than 48 hours since she’d been admitted, since an anonymous caller tipped off the police to her location, since Roman paramedics carted her unconscious body in for emergency surgery. Just over two days since she killed a man with an axe. Two days since she followed Villanelle into the ruins, since Villanelle told her she loves her, since they argued. 

Two days since Villanelle literally shot her in the back.

It already feels like a lifetime ago.

Eve knows she should feel something. Anger, probably. Maybe betrayal, or even disappointment. But she doesn’t. 

Maybe it’s the morphine, but Eve just feels tired.

She wonders, vaguely, if she will ever see Villanelle again. 

She thinks the odds are pretty even. A fifty percent chance the shooting meant Villanelle was well and truly done with Eve, that she was gone for good. A fifty percent chance the shooting was Villanelle’s way of getting even with Eve, and they would shortly be back to their regular game of cat and mouse as if nothing had happened.

She pictures trying to explain this situation to any normal, rational person.  _ She shot me because she doesn’t like me anymore _ or  _ She shot me because she likes me too much. _

And when Eve breaks it down like that in her head, she has to laugh. At the absurdity of the situation, at the idea of imagining that anyone else could possibly understand. At the idea that Eve herself didn’t know what was going to happen next, because when she thought about it like that, of course she knows. Of course she does.

A giggle escapes her lips, then a louder one, and then Eve is having a full-on laugh attack in her hospital bed. She sucks in deep breaths and shakes from the effort. She knows her pain medications are wearing off because the laughter hurts, but she can’t stop.

“Wow, they must really be giving you the good stuff.”

And Eve isn’t surprised, she isn’t surprised at all, when she turns her head and sees Villanelle standing in the doorway.

“Yeah, they are,” Eve agrees. She tries to school her expression into something serious, but a bit of a smile still peaks through. “I think because some asshole  _ shot _ me. Can you believe it?”

Villanelle gives a low whistle and a comically shocked expression. “ _ Crazy _ .”

She lingers in the doorway for a moment, but when it becomes clear Eve isn’t going to immediately send her away, she takes a few steps inside and perches on the edge of the chair at Eve’s bedside.

“Do you think they will apologize?” Villanelle asks, not quite meeting Eve’s eye.

“Hmm. Probably not. She doesn’t seem the type.”

“I know the feeling,” Villanelle nods solemnly. She lifts the corner of her shirt, revealing a scar along her abdomen. “I was stabbed once, and I didn’t get an apology either.”

Eve’s eyes drink in the scar, the one she left on Villanelle’s body, the one she’d never before seen but knew must be there.

“ _ Crazy _ ,” Eve responds in a poor mockery of Villanelle’s accent.

Villanelle’s lips twitch into a smile.

“Where have you been?” Eve asks suddenly, and oh - there may be some anger floating around in her after all. Because Eve was  _ there _ , wasn’t she, after she stabbed Villanelle? She had wanted to help her, back in Paris. But in Rome, Villanelle walked away. She left Eve alone.

“I was kidnapped,” Villanelle answers casually, and for some reason, Eve believes her.

Despite herself, Eve feels a flicker of concern.

“By the Twelve?”

“No,” Villanelle says, lowering her voice and looking around conspiratorially as if someone might be listening in. “By aliens.”

Eve stares at her. 

“They locked me in a secret vault under a college in Bristol,” Villanelle continues, expression deadly serious.

“Don’t be a dick.”

“What? Eve that is so rude, I am telling you I’ve just been kidnapped and you’re calling me a dick?”

Eve rolls her eyes, but feels a smile creeping over her face.

“If you’re going to claim aliens of all things, at least pick somewhere more believable than Bristol.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who indulged me on this one!
> 
> More Missy & Villanelle antics coming soon...

**Author's Note:**

> I realize how niche of an audience the Doctor Who/Killing Eve crossover fandom may be, but I decided a while back that Missy would be a big fan of Villanelle's, so here we are. My favorite murdery-ladies together!


End file.
